


Cinderella: Under Covers

by Deense



Category: Fables - Willingham
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deense/pseuds/Deense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella finds herself involved in the Second World War in the only way she knew how - as Fabletown's spy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderella: Under Covers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lispeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lispeth/gifts).



> Based off one page at the beginning of issue four of Cinderella: From Fabletown with Love. I really liked the snippets they gave us of some of Cindy's previous spy work, so I decided to run with the one set in World War Two and tell the rest of her adventure.

New York 1942

"Paris?  Is it safe?"

I forced myself to smile benignly at Snow's question, ignoring Briar Rose's look as well. Of course it wasn't safe in Paris, there was a war on. Things like wars hadn't bothered me before, not in all my years as Bigby's secret agent. But they didn't know that. To them I was just another rich socialite who thought herself invulnerable and did what she wanted, when she wanted. It was the perfect cover.

Of course, in some ways I was invulnerable - it was hard to hurt a Fable with as much belief in her story as I had. I never could be sure if Snow truly cared, or if she was asking because omeone had to follow the forms and be the responsible one of the bunch.  Briar Rose just nodded, adding her silent agreement to Snow's question.  Hey, compared to my stepsisters, Snow and Briar Rose were a dream.  

"I'll be fine," I smiled, that slightly distracted and vacant smile I employed so well.  Accompanied by a flip of my hair, and I was the picture of an unconcerned socialite.  "I hear there are some excellent opportunities  for art collectors.  I was thinking of perhaps opening a gallery.  Or just expanding my own collection."

All lies, but I couldn't tell anyone that.  I watched Briar Rose's mouth tightening, and ignored it.  She'd come to Fabletown with nothing, all that she'd had plundered by the Adversary's forces.  All that she'd had left, that was.  Our mutual ex wasn't known for his restrained spending habits.  But the Adversary had taken a lot from many of those in Fabletown.  I'd been one of the lucky ones, escaping with most of my fortune.  I'd held onto it too, in part because I kicked one handsome Prince to the curb soon after our arrival in this world.  

Alright, I'll admit it.  There were times I wanted to tell Snow about the work I did for our Sheriff.  I wanted to wipe the concerned looked off our Deputy Mayor's face and explain just how important I was to Fabletown's survival.  But after more than two hundred years, I knew the urge would pass.  

No one in Fabletown could understand why Bigby was so concerned about a Mundy war held a world away.  At least, no one could on the surface of things.  The involvement of the Mundy Americans had seemed inevitable to both of us.  Bigby talked about responsibility to the Mundies and their world we inhabited.  Me, I simply spent enough time in the field as Fabletown's operative to know these conflicts never stayed as contained as many Fables wanted to believe.  There was always a way for what happened out there to affect us in our little enclave - whether we wanted to admit it or not.  

Even before America entered the war, the rumours had been there.  Rumours of the Germans and experiments they were running.  Rumours of some sort of master soldier, some kind of abomination.  Of course Bigby caught wind of them, and that meant a mission for me.  Off to a war zone to gather what information I could, again.  It was what I did. Me, Cinderella, Fabletown's spy.  Not many knew that particular piece of information.  Most of Fabletown saw me the same way Snow and Briar Rose did, another ex-wife of Charming, a socialite and gadabout.  It was an image I encouraged, it helped to explain my frequent travels and meant that nobody looked to closely at exactly what it was I did.  

So here I was, saying my goodbyes to the only two women who came even close to being friends my charming ex-husband's other exes.  We did this every month, this strange lunch date.  We had for hundreds of years.  The location may have changed, and we couldn't particularly say that we even liked each other all that much, but we had Charming in common, and for some perverse reason, we couldn't let that go.

They couldn't know, I reminded myself as I slipped from the booth.  "I have to run.  My ship leaves for England in the morning and I still have to pack."  Smiles plastered on, we made our goodbyes.  The engagement was more awkward than usual, but it served its purpose.  Briar Rose and Snow would let it slip that I was off gallivanting again, and no one would be the wiser.  After all, who would expect Cinderella as a spy?  It was exactly the reason I was so useful.

London, 1942

The trip over had been uncomfortable to say the least.  It wasn't like luxury cruisers were crossing the Atlantic these days, not with a war on. I'd done what was needed and bribed a ship's captain and crew to let me have a berth of my own, but it had been small, dark and uncomfortable.  It was a work-related expense, I had told myself, imagining Bigby's spluttering when he saw my list of expenses.  Thankfully, it was over, and I'd used the time cabin-bound to create exactly what I'd needed.  Papers, and lots of them.  I was Cindy Renier this time. A Mundy American operative with her government's full backing, I was to be sent into France at the earliest possible opportunity.  I had a rank, a uniform, and a concocted story that I knew front to back.  

What I also had was an escort, of sorts.  Harp, a friend of Bigby's, who I was supposed to work with.  Not all the Fables that had come over lived in Fabletown or on the Farm after all. Though most of us appreciated having other Fables nearby, some chose to live outside in the Mundy world. As long as they didn't break the Fabletown compact, that was fine, if unusual. He was an actual werewolf, unlike Bigby, but I wasn't about to cast stones.  I knew all about how easily glass shattered, whether it was shoes or houses, it didn't matter.  I was used to working alone, and having to work with another operative chafed somewhat, especially when it was one I didn't know.  

Our first meeting hadn't gone very well. He'd met me shortly after I'd gotten off the ship, before I'd even had a chance to get my bearings. Being told he'd rented us rooms, and the way he'd tried to take charge of things had rankled, and I'd let him know in no uncertain terms. He was rough and gruff, and that he was a friend of Fabletown's sheriff didn't surprise me one bit.  He'd also spent too much time living among the Mundies if he expected me to simply follow every direction he gave.

I explained it to him, in detail. The entire time, it felt like he was holding back a smile, something that didn't precisely endear me to him. But, the rooms he'd rented were in an excellent location, and as he organised for my bags to be delivered to

I had understood Bigby's point, and accepted it eventually.  Sending a lone female operative behind enemy lines was a rare thing, and having an escort simplified matters. The Mundy attitude was archaic and frustrating, but I knew that sometimes there was nothing to be done about it except to make it work for us.  That was why I was so good at this job, I had a way of coming out on top - even in the most unlikely of situations.

Even with all the paperwork in order, the opportunity didn't simply present itself, leaving me trapped in London for a few weeks.  I didn't mind.  There was a war on, and somehow London was still a vibrant city.  Americans were starting to flood into the city with their money and their cigarettes, a much needed relief for the war weary Londoners.  The soldiers on leave brought a life that might otherwise have been lacking.  Or maybe that wasn't entirely true, considering the determination of the English Mundies.  They didn't allow something as silly as dropping bombs or rationing interfere with their lives. I liked their attitude in spite of myself, and found ways to get out into the city.  

It wasn't entirely pleasure, I reasoned.  The English soldiers were the ones we both wanted to talk to.  We needed soldiers or officers who'd been out in the field and were now home for whatever reason.  Between missions, because of injury, whatever the reason they were the ones that might provide us with information in the form of rumours and gossip.  Their tall tales were exactly what we wanted to hear, because in their far-fetched stories were the kernels of truth that might lead us to what we were hunting for.  

Getting the information was simpler than even I'd expected.  A pretty American willing to buy the drinks and generous with her cigarettes was very welcome.  A few nights in smoke-filled bars and I had too much information, along with a number of proposals - of both the decent and indecent nature.   Harp had fared about as well.  He'd gone a slightly different route, talking to a much less savoury sort.  Maybe he would be useful, I considered as I went over our combined notes.  Putting the information together into something useful was always the hardest part, and yet somehow the most satisfying.  There was no rush of adrenaline, but rather a slow building sense of accomplishment as I sifted through the information we'd collected.   

"Anything interesting?"

The gruff words pulled me from my reverie.  It was easy to get lost in the notes I had piled onto the table.  I'd almost forgotten Harp was there, sitting silent in the corner of the room with a whiskey of dubious pedigree in his hand.  

"Yes," I stretched, the tightness between my shoulders the best indication of how long I'd been at this for. Quickly, I glanced through the split in the heavy curtains, realising night had fallen, perhaps again.  I never needed a lot of sleep, not with the sheer strength of belief there was in my story.  But 24 hours in a row hunched over a table was wearing, even on me.  "Is there more of that?"

There wasn't much point in asking the day.  I knew Harp well enough by now to know we'd make our transport.  Those sort of details were his responsibility, it had just worked out that way.  He nodded, a stiff jerk of his head toward a cabinet.  "In there."

"Good," I needed a drink, I decided, even if it had to be this rotgut.  I'd drank worse over the years, but it didn't mean I enjoyed it.  

Sensing that, Harp waited silently until I was two sips into my drink before speaking again.  "Where are we going?"

Straight to the point.  I smiled in spite of myself.  I hadn't wanted to like the gruff Fable I'd been saddled with, but familiarity bred tolerance, or something along those lines.  "Paris, first."  Maybe last as well.  It was well and truly behind enemy lines, and maybe having some support wouldn't be a bad thing.  "So many rumours, I'm not sure they'll lead anywhere, but that seems like our best bet.  Besides," I winced as I finished the glass of alcohol that could barely be called whiskey.  "I know a few people there.  If they're still there."

Harp nodded again, that same jerk of movement.  "Get some sleep.  We leave tomorrow."

"Is that an order?"  Knowing I needed the sleep didn't stop me from bristling at his words.  The rough chuckle that I got in response didn't help my mood any, my eyebrow raising as he muttered something about outranking me in the field.  

A dignified exit was my only saving grace.  Head high, I ignored the amused huff of laughter and in no way slammed the bedroom door shut.  

No one said I had to be rational all the time, did they?

Paris, 1942

"This way," I hissed, grabbing Harp's sleeve and heading toward a dimly lit stairwell.  We had the information we'd come for, and we needed to get out of this place, something Harp agreed with all too readily. For once he didn't argue about taking an order from me.  It was nearly a game now, one of us giving a direction and the other railing against it, even though we knew it the right thing thing to do.  Neither of us were good at taking orders, but we both knew that sometimes it was needed and the other was competent.  It didn't mean we couldn't have a little fun with it, even in stressful times.  No, especially in stressful times.  That he didn't argue, it meant he knew our situation was desperate.  

Every second the shouts of the soldiers grew louder, footsteps echoing in the wide halls.  Ducking through the door, Harp jammed the handle, hopefully gaining us precious time.  "This isn't good," he growled, as we ran down the stairs and through the crowded kitchens.  The servants stayed out of our way, French mostly, they worked here but few were loyal to the Nazis they worked for.  "Come," he was the one yanking me along, as I tripped over my feet, a shoe slipping off.  I swore, the irony not escaping me as I pulled the other off, running barefoot out the building and toward the open square.

Little had gone right since our arrival in Paris.  It would have been nice to be able to blame it on something or someone, but I couldn't do that, not even in my most irrational moments.  Some contacts had vanished, and others wouldn't talk.  Every time it seemed like one of our leads was about to pan out, it wouldn't.  Someone out there was a step ahead of us, it seemed, and that wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.

I've never been a good loser.

We had managed, in the end.  One name had kept popping up, a certain Officer who apparently knew things.  The man connected with the disappearance of scientists but also of gypsies and fortune tellers, all around France.  It fit together with the rumours of someone were trying to make science out of legends.  It was never a good combination in any Fable's mind, and especially not in mine.  Getting into the party he'd been hosting had taken some work, but we'd managed.  In fact, we thought we were fine until we'd heard the alarm go off, just as we found what we'd been looking for.  Maps, notes, the information I'd been sent here for.  

I don't know what tipped them off, but neither of us were waiting around to find out.  With bars on the windows, the servant's stairs had seemed like the perfect way out.  Perfect.  Nothing was ever perfect, something I should have remembered.  I'd had a Fairy Godmother convinced she could bestow perfection on me, and look how well that turned out.  

This likely would have gone a bit better if we hadn't run through the kitchen, come to think of it. This was all Bigby's fault, I thought as we ran into the courtyard behind the house we were staying. There just had to be a soldier there, likely some sort of guard posted on the back door. He wasn't so much guarding as he was trying to force his attentions on a serving girl with a bucket of ashes.

What can I say? I have a weak spot for girls forced into servitude and cleaning out the cinders.

"Hey," I shouted, weighing up the shoe in my hand. "How about you pick on someone your own size."

Ignoring Harp, ignoring the leather satchel I was carrying, ignoring my _mission_ , I waited for the soldier to start to turn. Bigby's rules - anything could be a weapon if your aim was good. Believe me, mine was, the point of my heel catching the soldier in the forehead. My foot followed into his solar plexus before he had time to realise what was happening. Catch them off guard, that was the other important bit. One more kick and he was staying down. I didn't have much time to tell the girl to run and get the hell out of this place, not with Harp's hand vice like on my arm.

The problem now was we weren't catching anyone off guard. Harp and I ran into the square, and I knew that my detour had cost us precious seconds. Too many seconds, it seemed, as we saw the Nazis in the square. Their guns trained on us, for a moment it looked to them that they had us where they wanted.  But like me, Harp knew Bigby's rules.   _Your best play is always the card the other guy doesn't even know you're holding._

Guns went off before Harp moved, but to little use.  Like he'd pointed out so helpfully to the German soldiers, there weren't silver bullets in the peashooters that the Nazis carried, and silver was all that could harm a werewolf.  He changed so quickly none of us saw it, an oversized wolf on them in seconds.  

Of course just because it was hard to kill us didn't mean we couldn't be hurt.  The bullet that grazed my arm?  That hurt.  I moved behind Harp, taking advantage of the looks of disbelief and terror on the soldiers faces.  It didn't take long before I had a gun of my own, taking down two soldiers as they recovered.  Harp had taken care of the majority of our Nazi problem all on his own. Sirens were sounding now, and the arrival of more troops seemed inevitable, but I couldn't help but smile up at the wolf.  "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Fine," his words came stingily out of the large mouth of the wolf he'd become, "you get them next time.  I'll watch."

"I will," Sirens started to sound in the distance, and I found myself wishing I was wearing something other than this dress and these heels.  This time, however, I wouldn't be watching my carriage turn into a pumpkin.  Or maybe there would be something like that, I thought as Harp changed back into his less conspicuous form.  It wasn't something I'd ever seen Bigby do, and it was intriguing.  He wasn't a pumpkin, but….  I shook my head as the whistles and shouts got louder.  Last place we wanted to be found was in an open square surrounded by dead Nazis.  "I think this is our cue to go."

"Hey, Don't forget-" the look he gave me nearly dared me to object, his eyes dancing as he spoke, "I outrank you.  Means I do the ordering."

I stood, arms crossed, the satchel with the papers we wanted over my shoulder and a gun in one hand.  "We'll see about that," I moved, tossing him a smile as I darted away from the soldiers coming in response to the alarm. Whatever else happened, we needed to get out of Paris, and get somewhere safe.  

Outside of Rouen, 1942

It took three days to cover a distance we could have easily travelled in a day before the war.  Travelling in the dark, off the roads, avoiding patrols, it all made things more difficult.  We'd finally found refuge in an abandoned farmhouse, a much needed rest.  Three days on alert, and we both needed our sleep, Harp more than I.  But before we could sleep, there was one more task that needed to be completed.  

In the bottom of the satchel was a piece of glass, enchanted by Frau Totenkinder for a price I didn't want to think about.  The favours I owed her had built up over the years, and when she finally called them in-  There was no time to think of that now, as I said the words that activated the shard.  Hoping it worked, I spoke into it, reading off the documents we'd found, passing it over the maps.  If all went as it was supposed to, another piece of glass would start to burn.  That was the piece of glass that Bigby had wherever he was.  If it hadn't, we'd be back in London a few days later.  Either way, he'd get the information he needed.  My job here was done, or as close to that I could finally get some rest.

“You take the bed,” Harp’s words were welcome - mostly.  A bed, an actual bed after three days of fighting our way through fields and woods?  The only thing I would have welcomed more was a bath, but that wasn’t going to happen til we were back in London from the looks of things.  

“Really?” I stood, my mouth curling up on one side as I stretched, back arching, arms pressed upward.  I held that pose until I felt my spine loosen - and felt Harp watching me.  “I thought I told you I was going to be the one giving the orders from now on.”

For once, Harp seemed confused.  Men, they never failed to amaze me. “I’ll take the bed,” I said, crossing the room to where he sat.  A crook of my finger and a knowing look, and I could see realisation dawning in those dark eyes. Good, he was as smart as I’d given him credit for.  “But you’re taking it with me.”

The rest, as they say, is history.  


End file.
